


(kisses on the neck of) best friends

by birthmarks (orphan_account), desert_coffin, kittpurrson



Category: SKAM (TV)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Exhibitionism, Groping, Hand Jobs, M/M, Masturbation, Polyamory, Rimming, Shotgunning, Threesome - M/M/M, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-09
Updated: 2017-05-09
Packaged: 2018-10-29 17:20:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 16,184
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10858563
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/birthmarks, https://archiveofourown.org/users/desert_coffin/pseuds/desert_coffin, https://archiveofourown.org/users/kittpurrson/pseuds/kittpurrson
Summary: Five times Jonas watched Isak and Even, and one time they did something about it.





	(kisses on the neck of) best friends

**Author's Note:**

> When we started writing this fic we were like, lol, threesome fic! That’ll be 4k, no problem. We were very wrong.
> 
> Jonas/Isak/Even may not be the most popular tag on AO3, but we’re really stoked to be contributing to it, and we want to send love to all of the fic writers so far who have contributed some epic Josak to the fandom... our boy with the brows deserves all the love. A special shoutout to our girl colazitron for cheerleading, and to intothewind, whose fic we cannot wait to see return from hiatus. 
> 
> I think we’re all very thankful that this OT3 brought this collaborative (BR)OT3 into our lives. We had a blast writing this fic, and we hope you all enjoy reading it. 
> 
> “Write what you love and fuck the haters.” —desert/kit/birthmarks 2k17

**i.**

It only takes an hour or so for the boys to get the last of Isak’s things from the van to the new apartment. Isak didn’t have much at the kollektiv, really—like, Jonas knows there must still be piles and piles of old stuff at his parent’s house—and Even’s shit is already moved in. The furniture was delivered yesterday and assembled between them with the help of Even’s father and a lot of IKEA instruction booklets, which was its own special kind of hell.

Today is officially Move In Day, though, and Jonas can’t believe it’s happening already. Not just because Isak is still only seventeen, but: Isak moving in with his boyfriend? It’s not something Jonas would have imagined eight months ago.

And somehow, here they are.

Jonas carries the last bag up the stairs, cursing his best friend’s failure to use moving boxes like a normal person. He’s just about to dump the sack of shoes loudly on the apartment floor to make his complaints heard, when he realizes that his efforts would be fruitless.

Isak and Even are standing alone in their new living area, and they’ve forgotten anybody else exists.

It’s like any other day in their relationship, but there’s something about the way they’re looking at each other that hits Jonas right where he lives. He doesn’t usually  _look_  at them like this, is the thing. Maybe because it’s not what bros do. Maybe because he doesn’t want to be seen to be looking. But right now, Mahdi and Magnus are downstairs arguing about where to get food, and Isak and Even are standing amongst their worldly possessions in a place that is all theirs, and Jonas can feel it.

Shit, this is the end of something.

Even murmurs under his breath, causing Isak to break into the biggest smile—so big that he looks for all the world like the twelve-year-old boy Jonas used to climb trees with. Even reaches out to tip Isak’s chin, and Isak’s eyes flutter closed into the easiest kiss—a  _hello we’re home can you believe it_ kind of kiss.

It’s not like Jonas didn’t know Isak loved Even. He did. But seeing them in their new home, starting this life together… fuck.

Jonas takes the shoes into the bedroom and closes the door behind him.

The sun is pouring in from the large window, and Jonas finds himself remembering the year he turned fourteen, back when Isak’s parents still used their cabin in the summertime. He spent those sun-drenched weeks around the lake with Isak, talking about girls and skateboarding and arguing about who could swim the fastest. It was so fucking blissful that it almost doesn’t feel real now, looking back.

He remembers one night, when the moon was full, how he and Isak had snuck out for a late-night swim and yelped at the frigid chill of the water. The breeze was cool on his skin, his nipples pebbling as he waded up through the shallows, and when Jonas had turned around, Isak’s eyes were serious—the shadows on his face not hiding the strange new way Isak was looking at him.

That night, Jonas had heard Isak touching himself in the bed adjacent to his, making these breathy little sounds like he couldn’t help himself. He heard the telltale creak of the bed and the heavy sound of Isak’s panting. The slick slide of Isak’s precome was audible, when Jonas strained his ears. 

Jonas listened and held himself still. He was a teenage boy and it was normal to get hard too… right? But when he slitted his eyes open to let himself look, Isak was looking right at him, his mouth parted in a gasp.

Isak never knew Jonas had been awake. Over the years he’d gotten used to the feeling of Isak’s eyes on him, and to Isak always being on the edge of his consciousness.

And it's not like he doesn't like girls, but over the years there have been mornings when he wakes up to wet sheets, vaguely remembering dreams of bony arms and a cock pressing against his hip, and for the rest of the day Isak’s gaze feels like a searing brand, a bruise Jonas wants to press but doesn’t.

But Isak isn’t looking anymore.

When Jonas finally emerges from the bedroom, he can’t help but indulge in the sight of Isak and Even. Isak is sitting on his kitchen countertop with the dreamiest look on his face, and as Even puts away some cutlery into a drawer, Isak tugs him back toward him with a smile and easily fists his hand in Even’s hair for an open-mouthed kiss.

The way they fit together—Even’s long fingers on Isak’s straining thighs, their bodies so incredibly close—makes Jonas feel warm all over. Something stirring low in his belly.

Does Isak make those sounds for Even, now? Would he let himself be louder, now he knew he was allowed to be?

Jonas wants to know. He wants to do something, or say something, or—he doesn’t know what he wants. But it takes Magnus and Mahdi tripping through the apartment door together, arguing about pizza toppings, for Jonas to finally look away.

 

 

**ii.**

Jonas tells himself that Move In Day was an anomaly. He doesn’t know what was going through his mind when he saw Isak and Even together in their apartment, but he knows that whatever it was was uncool. Isak is his best friend, for fuck’s sake, and he’s happy for him. He likes Even, and he’s good for Isak. He approves of their relationship; it would be wrong not to, when Even makes Isak seem so carefree and  _happy_ , something that Jonas hasn’t seen in him for years.

Jonas puts all of his weird feelings about their relationship out of his mind. It can’t bother him if he doesn’t think about it. In fact, it doesn’t bother him at all. It doesn’t bother him  _so much_ , that he brings Isak and Even a gift to their housewarming party tonight, despite the fact that they didn’t ask for anything. He is the best friend ever.

Now that he’s outside their apartment holding a stupid jade plant, though, he feels a bit ridiculous.

He can’t get rid of it. There’s nowhere in their hallway that isn’t out in the open that he can leave it to collect dust, and he already buzzed in to let them know he was here. Jonas has never been one for insecurities, but he feels a strange sense of apprehension about giving them this present. This was a dumb idea. Why did he spend an hour looking on the internet for something that would be perfect for Isak and Even, only to bring them a fucking plant?

The door suddenly opens in front of him, and it’s Isak.

“Hey, come in,” Isak says distractedly, holding a stupidly large candlestick. Jonas doesn’t bother asking—he gets quite distracted himself by the grey button-up shirt that Isak is wearing. He’s rolled up the sleeves and Jonas can see the curve of his bicep and—he’s going to stop thinking now.

“Hey,” he responds, and Isak moves out of the doorway. He places the candlestick so that it’s perfectly centered on the table next to the shoe rack, and he spends more time fixing it than Jonas would expect from him; Isak isn’t exactly a master interior decorator, despite all his claims that he might be, but things like this show that he clearly takes moving in with Even seriously.

Isak looks so comfortable and at home, and yet again Jonas feels shitty. 

He consciously decides to stop thinking about it as he kicks off his shoes, and when Isak turns to acknowledge Jonas again, he unceremoniously thrusts the plant toward him.

Isak is... confused. He scrunches his eyebrows together and twists his mouth a bit, but he carefully takes the tiny potted tree from Jonas's hands.

“Uh,” Jonas starts stiltedly, thinking he should probably explain himself. “This is for you. And Even. For your apartment. It’s a gift.”

“Oh,” Isak says, sounding surprised. He takes a second look at it, and turns it around in his hands, and he still looks a little confused, but Jonas can also see the beginning of a smile playing on his lips.

“Yeah, I...”

Isak looks up and meets his gaze.

“It’s a jade plant. It represents a lot of things. Like luck, and money.” Jonas forces himself to give the real reason. “And friendship,” he says quickly. “Anyway, we both know how broke you are, maybe this will make things better. Haha. It’s easy to care for, so don’t worry. I didn't want to get you something that would be hard to keep alive. And I just wanted to get you something nice, because… You know.”

He’s rambling now. He shrugs, because he can’t really look Isak in the eye anymore.

“Jonas,” Isak says quietly, and Jonas tries his best to clear his expression. Isak’s eyes are understanding and the soft expression on his face makes Jonas's mouth go dry. “Thank you. Really, bro. I love it, and I’m sure Even will as well.”

Jonas gulps. Shit, it’s been so long since Isak has looked at him like that. 

“No problem,” he shrugs. “So, where’s the food?”

Isak leads him to the kitchen where they’ve bought a few pizzas, and then points to the common area where everyone else is mingling. Jonas joins Mahdi in front of the gaming console after grabbing some slices and a beer, and it’s good. After a while he relaxes; he’s having a pretty great time.

Two hours in, it’s his turn to venture back to the kitchen for more drinks. He looks around for Isak or Even, but neither of them are in the living room anymore. For a moment, he wonders where they went off to together, but quickly decides he doesn’t want to know. Maybe he’ll just take a look in their fridge. They won’t mind.

Bad idea.

The second he reaches the doorway, he realizes that the two boys are using the kitchen, of all places, to get some privacy. 

He feels annoyed for a brief moment, but tries to snap himself out of it when he remembers that this is  _their_  home. They can do whatever they want in it, wherever they want. It’s Jonas who’s invading their space right now. He’s the unwanted one in this situation.

But, Jesus, do they have to look so good together?

Even stands, leaning against the kitchen counter with his arms looped around Isak’s waist. Isak’s hands are on Even’s neck and in his hair. And they’re kissing. Not heatedly, but in a really sweet way, lips sliding together languidly before they pull back to smile and press tiny kisses to each other’s mouths. They only have eyes for each other, and it’s almost worse than if Jonas caught them having sex because they look so damn  _happy_.

He’s only just decided to leave when Even’s hands slip under Isak’s shirt and Jonas catches flash of the bare skin of Isak’s lower back. Jonas's breath hitches. Even’s hands look really good on Isak’s waist, palms flat against his skin, and Jonas should really leave right now because this is not something he should be witnessing.

Then, Even’s fingers start toying with the waistband of Isak’s underwear. Jonas watches, enraptured, as Even snaps the band against Isak’s lower back. Jonas can hear the piercing sound loud in the quiet of their kitchen, and he exhales as a hot curl of  _something_ runs through him. He hears Isak giggle a little into Even’s mouth, and then Even’s hands migrate, sliding the tips of his fingers down the inside of Isak’s underwear to touch him lower, and… fucking hell.

Jonas hasn’t ever spent time looking at Isak’s ass, but right now it has his full attention and he can’t pull his eyes away from it. Isak is wearing these black skinny jeans tonight, ones that show off just how tight and firm his ass is, and Jonas has no idea when Isak got so fucking  _fit_. What the fuck? Has he been going to the gym?

Even’s hands are snug against the inside of Isak’s tight jeans and Jonas can see every movement of his fingers. He sees when his hands slip further down, and... fuck. Even has such big hands, such long fingers. Jonas can clearly see when they cup Isak, how perfectly his hands cover Isak’s ass, and the squeeze that comes right after. His mouth waters at the thought of skin against skin, and—

Then Isak whimpers, and Jonas watches his best friend’s face flush as he turns into the crook of Even’s neck. That sound.  _God_ , it hasn’t changed it all, Jonas realizes. It still sounds the same as when they were fourteen. 

Isak’s hips buck into Even’s and Jonas is positive that their dicks grind together. The thought is too much for him to handle. 

He can’t watch this. Jonas needs to get the fuck out of here before he sees anything more. But even when he reenters the living room, he’s too shaken up to concentrate. He can’t be in the same room as everyone. He sneaks out without saying goodbye, heart in his throat, and sends Isak a brief text.

_Gotta go, Mom needs me. Great party, dude. I’m really happy for you. <3_

 

 

**iii.**

Two weeks later, Jonas is feeling more clear-headed. He has a plan. After what happened at Isak’s housewarming party, he seriously needs some action to get his mind off whatever the hell that was. Watching Even and Isak touch and kiss shouldn’t have made him feel the way it did—yet, there’s a flare of heat in his chest as he remembers the way Isak said Even’s name, low and breathless.

The party is in full swing when Jonas arrives, and he immediately spots a few third year girls he wouldn't mind getting to know better.  His train of thought is brutally derailed when a first year stumbles into him, plastic nails digging into the tender flesh of his shoulders. Jonas pushes her off, wincing as the girl sways on unstable feet and raises her head, throwing him a bewildered glassy look.

Thankfully, the girl is quickly joined by another, just as blonde but not nearly as drunk, who smiles apologetically at him before leading her friend away. Finally, he can make his way through the swarm of people in the entryway, looking for his friends so that he can get this damn party started already. Magnus has brought the beers tonight, but he’s nowhere to be found.

The kitchen is full to the brim with people, and he eyes the cans of beers set over the counter longingly. There are at least a dozen people blocking him from much-needed liquid comfort, and he sighs, preparing himself to weave uncomfortably through them.

“Need a hand?” says a deep voice that Jonas could place anywhere. His stomach does a little somersault.

When he looks to his right, Even is leaning with an arm against the doorframe like he owns the place. There's a smirk on his lips that makes Jonas's heart work double-speed.

“Hey, Even.”

He tries for casual, tone neutral. Even is still smirking, eyes gleaming, and Jonas resists the urge to squirm under his intense gaze.

“This what you looking for?” Even asks after a beat, raising his eyebrows as he hands over a can of cheap beer. It’s unmistakably from Magnus’s stash—lukewarm and dusty from his dad’s garage.

He holds it out, and Jonas takes the can gingerly, snapping the lid open to occupy his hands.

“Thanks. Isak isn't with you?”

Even chuckles lightly and leans in a bit closer, eyes still on Jonas as he hooks a thumb over the corner of his bottom lip. The lighting overhead is dim, casting strange shadows on his face. Jonas watches Even bite his thumbnail lightly, sharp canine grazing the skin.

“He’s out there,” Even says finally, an amused lilt to his voice, letting his hand drop to his side. Jonas frowns.

“Are you drunk? It's only 22:00.”

It’s the only explanation Jonas can imagine for the way Even is looking at him.

“I'm not drunk, Jonas. But feel free,” he says, gesturing at the beer Jonas still hasn't had. And then he’s pushing past a group of girls blocking the way to the living room, without a look behind him.

Jonas stares at his retreating back, absentmindedly taking a few sips of the lukewarm beer.

There's a part of him that wants to see Isak so badly tonight. Hear his voice again, watch him get red and pliant from the alcohol, melting into Even’s arms. Feel the tension buzzing underneath his skin again when he looks at them.

On a sudden burst of inspiration, Jonas forces his way through the kitchen to grab the half-empty bottle of vodka that Ingrid’s mother keeps under the sink. Beer forgotten, he pours himself a glass, chugging it down so fast his eyes water and his throat burns. 

Jonas forces himself to breathe, and then turns to make his way to the crowded living room, a second glass in his hand.

He walks through just in time to spot Isak sprawled over a sofa, nursing a drink with a pout on his face. His cheeks are flushed, white t-shirt riding up over his hips and exposing a sliver of skin Jonas can’t tear his eyes from.

In a daze, he steps forward until he finds himself standing behind the couch opposite the one Isak is sitting on. There’s something heavy weighing down on his chest as he watches his best friend raise his head, their eyes meeting.

For a second it’s electric. Isak’s eyes are dark, pupils shot wide, and there’s an inexplicable glint in them that sends a shiver down his spine.

And then Even walks into his line of sight, and the spell is broken.

“What took you so long?” Isak complains, all his attention immediately back on Even.

Even leans down from where he's standing in front of Isak.

“Someone’s fucking in the bathroom,” he says, wrinkling his nose before he brushes the back of his hand over Isak’s pink cheeks. Isak leans into the touch, lips parting around a sigh, and the sounds resonates in Jonas's entire body. 

He watches, mouth dry, as Isak straightens up and raises his upper body, a hand curling around Even’s neck. Their mouths meet halfway in a slow, heated kiss.

From where he's standing, Jonas can see the way Isak’s mouth goes slack and open, eyes sliding shut as Even leans in to deepen the kiss. He can't help but stare at their lips moving together, the sight of skin sliding over soft skin making his own lips tingle.

Jonas sets a hand over the back of the sofa, fingers digging into the soft material in an attempt to ground himself. He feels feverish listening to all the tiny noises Isak and Even are making, despite the still-sober part of his brain screaming at him to look away.

Pulling out his phone, Jonas walks around the couch and lets himself drop down over the cushions.

He needs to get a fucking grip like, yesterday.

He’s definitely  _not_  being the kind of friend Isak needs or wants, and it’s seriously freaking him out—the route his thoughts have been taking lately. Unable to concentrate on his phone, Jonas's gaze flits along the room, consciously avoiding the spot where Isak and Even are still lazily kissing. He sips at his drink, enjoying the burn on his tongue.

This is fine. The alcohol has gone to his head in the perfect way, so that Jonas is just the right side of tipsy. He feels drowsy now, body sluggish, and he begins to think that this evening might not be completely ruined. That is, as long as he manages to keep the fucked up thoughts away.

He hears Isak moan faintly, then, and the world goes a little sharper again. There’s nothing Jonas can do but turn his head, eyes seeking Isak. His face, his mouth, the smooth angles of his neck.

Even is laughing, low and deep in his throat, and everything else falls away against the heat crashing through Jonas's body. He feels an undeniable undercurrent of something  _more_  run through him as he watches Isak tug his boyfriend down by the neck, pulling as Even goes down willingly to crouch down on the floor in between Isak’s spread legs.

Even’s big, broad hands are clasped over Isak's thighs, sliding up and down the length of them in purposeful, deliberate movements that raise Jonas's pulse in the same way that it surely is raising Isak’s.

He needs to get out of here. He knows he should get up; go find the girl who invited him in the first place. Forget everything that’s been wrong with him lately. And yet, his gaze flicks back up to Isak’s expressive face, his sharp cheekbones and his eyes—

His eyes. Open and unreadable and focused right on him.

The unexpected eye contact is like a shock to his body. Jonas is instantly sober—hyper-aware of how screwed he is now that Isak has realized what he’s been doing. His eyes dart to the floor and back to Isak’s face again, in confusion.

He doesn’t know what reaction he expected from his friend, but it isn’t Isak simply detaching his lips from Even’s, leaning into the side of his face to whisper something in his ear.

The two exchange a few words and, without warning, Even rises from the floor and sit down on the couch, pulling Isak on his lap confidently.

Their mouths find one another in a rush, the kiss heated—but this time it’s Even who is staring Jonas down. There’s a flicker of something fierce in his eye, some sort of intense possessiveness, like he’s challenging Jonas to an unspoken contest.    

When Even’s hand finds its way through Isak’s blond curls, Jonas has to look away, unable to hold Even’s sharp gaze. The sweet sounds of open-mouthed kisses and wet tongues echo in his head, and he can feel the fire burning in his chest as the first pang of real, deep lust zips through his body.

To Jonas's utter shame, he feels his cock stir.

It doesn’t take long for him to get fully hard, straining uncomfortably against the rough denim of his jeans, and Jonas can barely think through the headiness that is taking over him. Through heavy-lidded eyes, he watches as Even watches  _him_ , gaze unwavering as he thrusts his tongue into Isak’s slack mouth.

Isak presses closer and tilts his face to the side so Even can lick wetly into his mouth, lips crushed together. Jonas takes it all in, the deep flush on both their faces, the way Isak arches into Even’s chest, the way Even’s arms curl around his waist, a hand on his hip to keep him close.

And all the while, Even is staring right at him.

Jonas feels drunk and tired, but he manages to lift his body upright, holding Even’s gaze, until he abruptly stands up and turns on his heel. He’s swaying on his feet from the abrupt movement, and the lack of coordination caused by the alcohol is suddenly painfully obvious. Still, he walks around aimlessly, vision slightly blurred, until a warm hand around his biceps stops him.

“Jonas,” Mari says, drawing the ‘o’ out in what Jonas thinks is an attempt at drunken flirting. Not that he cares much, turning to greet her with a smile that he hopes makes him seem just as interested.

When she leans in, coy smile on her lips as she mumbles  _want to get out of here?_ in his ear, he takes a moment to pull away and look at her, giving a little quirk of his eyebrows before he leans in again to kiss her. She’s soft and warm under his hands and she has a tiny waist for him to squeeze with obvious intent. Her mouth feels so good he can almost pretend it’s the same reason his dick is still hard in his jeans.

Almost, because then she moans, and her mouth falls open some more, and it’s like a fist to his stomach when he realizes he’s imagining kissing someone else entirely. He pulls away abruptly, shooting her an apologetic smile to fend off her frown.

He doesn’t remember what shitty excuse he manages to think of—something to do with how much he’s had to drink, probably. All that matters in this moment is that he puts as much distance as possible between him and this house.

His legs are still shaky, but somehow he is able to to make it down the stairs and out of the house, the cold air hitting him like a wall. It clicks, then, what just happened, what he just did, and he feels shame burn through him.

Jonas pulls his hood on and starts walking; he can’t let himself linger.

 

 

**iv.**

When Jonas's parents first tell him they’re travelling for their anniversary in June, he doesn’t hesitate to offer to host a party for Isak’s birthday. When the day finally rolls around, though, he seriously starts to regret that life choice.

Isak has been acting weird all night—not unhappy or anything, but he keeps looking at Jonas with a curious expression. Jonas shrugs it off despite feeling totally caught. The more Isak looks, the more Jonas tries to keep his distance—slinging back vodka with the boys like it’s going out of style until Even breaks out a case of sparkling wine and presses a plastic wine glass into Jonas's hand.

He drinks.

Three glasses later they’re giggly and giddy, and Jonas finds himself migrating toward Isak and Even, the spot next to them on the sofa invitingly open. There’s something about the wine buzz that makes Jonas's skin tingle… or perhaps it’s not the wine at all. But he feels that light, fizzy kind of drunk; he’s drunk enough to relax against Isak’s side and laugh at Even’s stories about Isak’s weird laundry habits. And he’s totally happy for Isak, to be with someone who can tease him and laugh with him like this.

He really is.

It gets easier the more wine he sips, so he drinks it steadily. And maybe his voice gets louder, and he tells more jokes than usual, and he throws his arm around Isak a bit more enthusiastically, but it helps. To let himself take what he’s offered, because he sure as hell isn’t going to blow up his life taking anything more.

So as the night wears on, Jonas lets himself look. While Isak’s eyes are on Even, and nobody else is paying them any mind, Jonas allows his gaze to linger on Isak. His best friend. The one constant in his life. Jonas tells himself he can keep it friendly, draw a line, but—

He looks at Isak. The familiar upturned nose, the freckle over his lip, those lips… Jonas just stares at them. There’s no other word for it—he’s drunk, he’s just staring, his gaze dropping from Isak’s lips down to the elegant slope of his pale throat, to his chest—covered, unsurprisingly, by one of Even’s t-shirts—and to his tighter-than-ever-before jeans, apparently a birthday present from the girls. They strain over Isak’s muscled thighs, and Jonas can’t help but lick his lips.

Fucking hell, he’s the worst best friend in the world. He really should leave Even and Isak to themselves. But he doesn’t.

Isak’s hand rests casually on the sofa between them, mere inches away from Jonas's. And maybe Isak doesn’t realize that he’s doing it, but his hand absentmindedly creeps closer and closer to Jonas's where no one else can see. It lays next to his, until Jonas looks down at the space between them incredulously, the sensation of the almost-touch zipping through his little finger until he can’t help himself—just inches his hand that bit closer, until their hands are touching.

Isak turns to him, and Jonas clears his throat, pulling his hand away. Isak doesn’t bother to look down, completely unfazed.

“You know what I want to do?” He asks, and Jonas shakes his head, raising his eyebrows in a believable impression of his usual chill persona.

Isak looks at his boyfriend with a barely concealed smile, and Even smirks.

“Come outside,” he says.

-

They move to Jonas's back garden, ignoring the random first years on the patio furniture to sit cross-legged on the grass. At first they just lay there, passing a fat joint back and forth between them, and Even asks Jonas for stories about Isak growing up. Jonas smokes and he talks about Isak’s long hair—how he cried the day he had to chop it all off—and how for two whole weeks when they were six, Jonas believed his best friend’s hair was magical. They laugh about how when Jonas and Isak were five, they locked themselves in the bathroom of Jonas's grandparents’ house and cried because they couldn’t escape.

As the joint burns down, Jonas feels the tension lift off his shoulders. He lounges to the side, trailing his fingers through the grass, because shit, the weed is really good, and then the silence makes him look up. When he does, Even’s eyes are closed, and he’s lying back on the grass, one hand reaching out to fiddle mindlessly with the waistband of Isak’s jeans.

Isak is holding the joint between his fingers. His eyes are on Jonas's mouth.

“Remember when you shotgunned with Isabel?” He asks.

Jonas nods slowly, because—well, yeah. It wasn’t even that long ago, maybe a year now. They hadn’t known Magnus and Mahdi long, then, but Mahdi had hooked them up with some good shit, and Jonas had put it to good use, impressing the girl who had been eying him all night.

“It looked really good,” Isak says, and then he fucking bites his bottom lip, twisting his mouth into a sinful expression that he must have inherited from Even. Cocky, almost.

“Yeah,” Jonas says. “That was pretty chill.”

Isak licks his lips, and then Jonas gets it. Even through the haze, he feels a stab of something at the thought of sitting here watching Isak shotgun with Even—the smoke passing between their lips until there’s no longer any gap.

But Isak scoots closer to him, instead, already raising the joint to his lips.

“Awesome,” he says, and then he takes the joint into his mouth. He inhales, and Jonas watches how the column of his throat works as he takes it, a faint mark at the base of it.

And then Isak leans in. With a hand cupping Jonas's face, he leans forward until their mouths are only centimetres apart, and then he exhales, the sweet smoke trickling across and into Jonas's mouth. 

But Jonas isn’t ready for it. He jerks back, and Isak’s face falls devastatingly. Jonas hates it.

“Did I do it wrong?” Isak asks, and Jonas scrambles to shake his head in reassurance.

“No,” he says. He wishes he could say something other than that, but his tongue is too tied.

Isak hands him the joint.

“Me?” Jonas asks, and Isak simply nods, getting up on his knees now to move closer. It strikes Jonas how at ease he is like this, how totally without shame. Fuck, it makes Jonas's cheeks burn, fuck—he needs to stop thinking this way. He knows he does.

Jonas lifts himself to his knees as well, and takes the hit.

He drags the smoke into his throat, allowing the heady sensation of the weed to fill his core until the scorching burn is too much. He leans back in toward Isak, simply meaning to do what Isak had done—stop two inches away—but Isak leans closer, confidently, until his lips are just about to brush Jonas's. Then Isak moves closer still: so close that Jonas can feel the heat of his body. As Isak inhales, his bottom lip brushes Jonas's for just a second—and then again, and again. His inhale seems to last an eternity, and by the end of it, Jonas's cock is making itself known, straining against his jeans.

He makes the mistake of looking down, only to find that Isak is hard, too.

Jonas stares at his best friend, mind cloudy and instincts telling him to  _touch him._ Even with the weed in his system, his heart races in his chest.

He could do it, he thinks for a second. He could do it right now—finally reach out, and drag his fingers against Isak’s cock, like he’s wondered about doing.

But Even’s voice shatters the moment, and Isak looks away with a laugh.

“Baby,” Even drawls, and Isak lies back next to him without a second thought, wrapping a hand around his boyfriend’s cheek. Even is already in the process of rolling a second joint, deft fingers working quickly, and then he’s lighting up again, moving in to blow smoke into Isak’s mouth. The way Isak’s body reflexively melts into Even’s, their chests pressed flush together, is a direct blow to Jonas's gut. 

It isn’t long before the blunt has burned down to a nub and they aren’t even pretending to smoke anymore, just sealing their lips together in a dirty kiss. Isak’s arms are wound tight around his boyfriend’s neck as Even smoothes a palm over his back, pulling him in deeper until it’s hard to imagine any parts of their bodies that aren’t connected. 

As Jonas sits there, Isak fucks into Even’s mouth with his tongue, and Even’s hand pushes into the back of Isak’s jeans again. The whole time, Jonas can only watch, growing harder like a special kind of humiliation. 

He can’t get over the sight of Even’s long fingers framing Isak’s face—of Isak’s hips grinding into Even’s to get more friction on his cock.

Jonas thinks he should get up and walk away, but he won’t. He wishes he could touch himself, but he can’t.

In the end, he does neither—just sits there and looks and looks until they remember his presence, and return to their casual flirting. He pretends not to notice the telltale bulge in Even’s jeans, or the wet spot darkening Isak’s.

When everybody else leaves that night, Jonas dreams of strong hands and two sets of eyes on him, tugging him over the edge into orgasm. He wakes up to wet sheets.

 

 

**v.**

Three weeks later, Jonas awakens in an unfamiliar place. 

His head is pounding and his throat is dry. He doesn’t know where he is or how he ended up here, but he appears to have been sleeping on a fairly uncomfortable couch. There’s a crick in his neck and his legs feel sore, and sometime during the night he had taken off all of his clothes, leaving him in only his boxers. All he can remember from the night before is a whirlwind of summer heat, sweaty bodies, and a hell of a lot of alcohol. 

He struggles to adjust his eyes to the darkness in the room. The only light present is the moon illuminated in the distance through the window, and, when he turns his head look around, some light is shining through a door ajar in the middle of the hallway. 

When his disorientation fades, he realizes he is in Isak and Even’s apartment. Vaguely, he recalls being so drunk last night that Isak had to convince him that he couldn’t bike back to his house, and to take a taxi with the two of them to their apartment.  _Jonas, you’re drunk, we’ll take care of you_ , Isak had said. At the time, that had sounded too good to pass up. 

Jonas sighs, kicking his drunken self for getting into this situation.

Here’s the thing: Jonas has been avoiding Isak and Even. 

He hates himself when he’s around them—and honestly, it’s not because he’s not happy for them. But the thoughts he’s been having can no longer be swept under the rug, and he’s beyond the point of trying to convince himself that he doesn’t enjoy being around them… for all the wrong reasons. He can’t stop thinking about how good they look together: how when he sees them touch each other, it’s like a phantom feeling of them touching  _him_. 

He doesn’t understand why he’s so affected by their relationship. He just wants to stop feeling like such a fucking creep. He’s at the point where he feels like he’s crawling out of his skin in his attempts to shrug off the guilt. But he can’t, so he’s at his final option: avoidance.

Jonas brings his hand to his face, rubbing at his eyes in annoyance. Turning onto his side, he grabs his phone, clicking the home button to look at the time.  _3:34_. Fuck. He’ll be here until morning, it seems, because it’s too late to go anywhere now. 

If he’s lucky, he might be able to sneak out before they wake up.

Eyes used to the darkness, he’s able to see more in the pitch-black of the room than he was when he first awoke. His throat feels parched as hell when he swallows, and he sits up. He’ll just go to the bathroom, wash his face, maybe grab a glass of water. Then: go back to sleep, wake up, and get the fuck out of here.

Looking around, he realizes he can’t find his jeans or t-shirt, but that doesn’t matter; Isak and Even are probably asleep anyway. 

He lifts his heavy limbs from their place on the couch and walks briskly past their room, to the bathroom at the end of the hallway. He takes his time drinking water from the tap, too lazy to look around their kitchen for a glass, and when he’s done, shuts the door behind him.

He’s about to go back to the couch, past the half-open bedroom door, when he hears it.

“ _Even_ ,” Isak whimpers, long and high in his throat. And Jonas’s heart stops.

He closes his eyes and rests his forehead against the wall next to the open door, because… of course. Of course he’d stay over at their house on a night they have sex. Of course he’d overhear them having sex. Of course he’d be right outside their bedroom door when he hears it. 

Fucking hell.

Jonas can hear his blood rushing loudly through his ears. He’s quite literally only a few steps away from seeing what Isak and Even are doing inside their bedroom. His mind runs wild, thinking of the possibilities for what they could be doing inside. 

Worst of all, he can hear Isak making these absolutely shameless, breathy noises. He’s loud as fuck: as if he doesn’t have a guest staying at his apartment, on his fucking couch in the next room. Jonas hates himself for thinking it, but Isak sounds fucking amazing—like sex, a wet dream, and everything Jonas has been fantasizing about from the moment Isak and Even moved in together. He can feel his cock twitching in his boxers, stiffening just by listening to the dragged out moans. 

Jonas swallows thickly. He’s fucked. If he doesn’t make some sort of noise to remind them that he’s here, or even just fucking move back to his space on the couch at this very moment, he’s... fucked. It’s like the word is on repeat in his brain.

But he can’t bring himself to move his feet from their place outside the bedroom.

“Fucking hell, Isak, look at you,” he hears Even say in a throaty voice. And it’s too tempting. The door is there, open right next to him, and if he moves just two inches closer, he’ll be able to see what is happening inside the room. 

 _Don’t do it, don’t do it_ , his conscience chants. But he’s been losing his mind for months. It feels like this was inevitable, a tipping point that he’s had no choice but to reach, and it doesn’t take much for him to finally say,  _fuck it_.

Maybe he wouldn’t if the lights weren’t off in the hallway, the shadows outside their door easily hiding his presence from them. Maybe he wouldn’t if he were a better person. But fuck it. He’s in too deep already.

He moves slightly to the side, a bit closer to the bedroom, and what he sees inside almost makes him choke. 

The view is perfect. If Isak and Even had sat down and planned out exactly how and where to put on a show for a voyeur in their hallway, they wouldn’t have found a better position. Jonas doesn’t know when they turned on the bedside lamp, but it illuminates them perfectly, casting warm golden light on their skin.

It would make a beautiful picture. Isak is completely naked, sitting on the edge of his bed with his legs spread apart, and Even on the ground between them, wearing nothing but some faded boxer shorts. Isak’s leaking cock is resting against Even’s cheek as he presses dirty, open-mouthed kisses against the shaft. Jonas can see everything that’s happening, and it’s the hottest thing he has seen in his life.

Even licks slowly at the tip, humming a pleased sound against it.

Isak has a flush high on his cheeks, mouth slack and lips bitten red. He looks drunk off the sight of Even on his knees for him, as if he is in awe of him, and Jonas can relate: he feels equally drunk off the sight of the two of them together.

“Even, baby,” he hears Isak whisper, “You feel so fucking good.”

Jonas watches as Isak takes a hold of his cock at the base, guiding it back into Even’s open mouth. Even licks at the precome at the head of his dick again, before he slowly sucks Isak between his lips. The press of his cock inside Even’s mouth is obscene, protruding his cheek, and Jonas feels lightheaded watching it happen. 

Even moans and Isak instantly groans after him, likely at the feeling of the vibration of Even’s mouth on his dick, and Jonas bites his lip. He’s so fucking hard, and when he looks down, he can see the bulge of his cock in his boxers. Just hearing Isak moan like this, like he’s so far gone he can't stop all the little sounds and curses falling from his mouth, is enough to make him like this.

It feels so wrong to get himself off in the middle of Isak and Even’s apartment, but he almost feels as though he’s about to come untouched at the sight of the two of them together.

His hand stutters as it slips down his stomach and into his boxers. He hesitates a bit before he wraps his fingers around the base, gasping quietly at the first point of contact, and pulls his dick out of his boxers. It's already wet at the tip, and he thumbs at it before dragging his hand over the length, stroking slowly, wanting to keep his movements quiet so they don’t hear him. He can feel every inch of his pull in his toes, and he has to clamp his teeth down on his bottom lip so that he doesn’t make noise, but  _fuck_ , it feels amazing.

When Jonas opens his eyes, he can see that Isak has fisted both of hands in Even’s hair, cradling his head while Even continues to suck on his cock. One of his hands drifts down Even’s face until Isak presses his thumb hard against his cheek, feeling as his dick moves in and out of Even’s mouth. 

Isak licks his lips, “Even, I want—” and then Jonas watches as Isak tentatively thrusts into the wet heat of his boyfriend’s mouth.

Even moans again, mouth full of Isak’s cock. He sounds like he’s really enjoying himself, enjoying the way that Isak is fucking into his mouth with sure, forward movements, and all Isak can do is keen, “ _Even_ ,” in response. 

They look so hot together. Isak with his legs wide open and hands in Even’s hair. Even on his knees, sucking on Isak’s dick. Jonas can’t help but fuck into the fist of his hand, catching himself before he groans low in his throat. His hands feel so good, and if he really thinks about it, he can imagine the way Even’s mouth must be so fucking wet and hot inside. 

Jonas  _wants_. 

He wants Isak’s hands in his hair, kissing his neck, sucking on his collarbones. He wants Isak to bite down on the muscle of his thighs, and Even to lick between his legs. He wants Isak’s hands on his balls, Even’s hands on his hips. He wants Even’s mouth around his cock, the same way it’s around Isak’s. He wants so much. He wants  _them_  so much.

Jonas’ eyes open just in time to watch Isak lose it, panting heavily into the air and then whining unabashedly as he spills into Even’s mouth. Jonas’ hand tightens around himself reflexively, and he comes, all over his hand, on his stomach, even a bit on the floor. 

Fuck, he’s a mess.

Tentatively—still reeling from the force of his orgasm—he moves from his spot behind the door and goes to the bathroom again to clean up. By the time he has recovered, the guilt has replaced the post-orgasm bliss and he just feels like a creep. He just got off to Even and Isak having sex—to full-on, voyeuristically  _watching_  them have sex—unaware that Jonas had a front row seat. 

He tries to push down the gnawing wonder if there was a reason that the door to their bedroom was so wide open, or that Isak was being so loud. 

Jonas goes back to the couch he was sleeping on, trying to make himself comfortable somehow. He can't sleep, and can't stop thinking about what he just saw, what he just did. The film keeps replaying in his head: Isak’s groans and the way his mouth fell open when he came.

When he finally falls asleep again, it's almost dawn.

 

 

**+.**

Jonas brings the glass to his lips, the alcohol somewhat melting the lump in his throat. The house party wound down about half an hour ago, but the tension in the room has been increasing exponentially since Magnus walked out the door. The moment Jonas went to slip on his shoes, Isak put an hand on his arm and asked if he wanted to stay a little longer, to ‘catch up.’

It's true that they haven't seen each other much lately. Ever since Isak moved in with Even, it's been difficult trying to convince him to come out to parties, and more often than not he’s ended up texting Jonas with a flimsy excuse not to join the squad that night.

It still feels strange that Isak would be inviting him to stay longer when he could be spending the night alone with Even, especially after what happened the last time Jonas stayed over. 

Not that Isak and Even need to be alone to be together, Jonas thinks. They’re sprawled over the couch next to the chair he’s lounging in, looking like they don’t have a care in the world. Isak is half lying over his boyfriend’s chest, while Even runs a slow hand through his hair, kissing his brow every few minutes. 

It’s too personal; a harsh reminder that those few times the line was blurred between the three of them were insignificant. 

Even and Isak are each other’s everything, and Jonas can’t be a part of that. 

He’s just setting his drink on the table with a heavy sigh, trying to think of an excuse to leave, when Even brings him back to the present.

“So, Jonas. Good catch at Ingrid’s.”

He says it with a hint of teasing in his voice that sounds really fucking good right about now. He caught Isak’s cold a few days ago and his throat is still rough, voice a little raspy. Jonas tries not to think about the way it makes his blood run hotter, and focuses on what Even just asked instead. 

“Mari?” He frowns. “But that was like, three weeks ago.”

“Damn, nothing since then? We should hook you up.”

“ _Even_ ,” Isak interrupts them. “Jonas doesn’t need your help to pick up girls, trust me.” He throws Jonas a smirk that Jonas can barely bring himself to return. It’s almost sad how much girls are not what his mind is on right now.

At that, Even laughs, deep and throaty, a hand coming to rest casually over Isak’s thigh. 

“Hmm,” he says, his fingers trailing back and forth over the seam of Isak’s jeans. “You did tell me about the rumors.” 

Jonas can barely concentrate on what he’s saying.

Even’s hand is strong and broad and  _big,_  and he moves it confidently over Isak’s inner thigh like it belongs there. Jonas’s eyes follow the gesture helplessly, the familiar burn back in his chest. 

“Did you guys see Magnus, though? Vilde and him are one weird couple,” Isak says. He doesn’t seem bothered by the way Even is caressing him.

“He’s trying so hard,” Jonas says after a beat, forcing a chuckle to hide his discomfort. It comes out all wrong, and he mentally kicks himself when Isak throws him a curious look. Shit _._

“At least he’s not crushing on Even anymore,” Isak jokes, and Even leans in to whisper something in his ear that makes Isak’s light-hearted smile instantly turn filthy. 

It makes Jonas’s heart beat twice as hard in his chest. 

Even’s hand is still stroking Isak’s inner thighs, getting more adventurous as Even’s beer empties. Jonas has been staring so long he can almost feel the ghost of those pale fingers over his own leg. 

He looks down at the wooden table. There’s nothing that can stop the fantasies going through his head right now: vivid, technicolor images of what it would feel like to have Even’s hands on him, mapping his body out every night. The thought is overwhelming, seizing his throat until he has to lean back into his seat again.

“No way!” Isak yells out, laughing breathlessly, and Jonas’s mind snaps back into focus. He’s missed something.

Even and Isak are bickering playfully, some random shit about Isak not washing the pan he used on Monday before putting it back in the cupboard, but Jonas can’t hear over the sound of his heartbeat in his ears. There are so many places where their bodies are touching. Even’s arms are around Isak, his hand on his thigh, his cheek against his temple—and Jonas can’t look away. 

Isak is laughing and leaning into Even’s chest, and it could almost look innocent if it weren’t for the fact that he’s unmistakably hard. It's desperately obvious how affected Isak is, how shallow his breathing has become, how his hips stutter forward in short, aborted movements every time Even’s hand trails too high.

Jonas is hard, too. His dick twitches in sync with Even’s touches on Isak’s leg, and he wants it. He wants it so bad, can't ignore the way heat is flooding his veins and building in his groin. Even is perfectly aware of the effect his touch has on Isak, Jonas thinks bitterly. He clearly enjoys how transparent his boyfriend is; it’s like he likes putting the two of them on display… as if he knows what's going on in Jonas's head.

“It's so hot in here,” Isak laughs in the sudden silence, spreading his legs more widely.

“So open a window,” Even replies, a little delayed, like it took him some effort to find his voice again.

Isak doesn’t move.

Instead, his eyes flutter closed as Even moves his hand up his thigh again, deliberately slow and impossibly high. Jonas holds his breath when Even’s fingers breach an invisible barrier, coming to rest over the place where Isak's cock is straining against his jeans. 

Time freezes in the tiny living room; the air is instantly heavy with tension. 

Isak shudders breathlessly, burying his face into the crook of Even’s neck. Jonas feels like he’s choking.

Opposite him, Even meets his gaze head-on, an intense look in his eyes. For a moment, heavy breathing is the only sound in the room. 

Then Even leans down, his other hand coming to tilt Isak’s chin up into a kiss. Their mouths meet seamlessly and Isak’s eyes instantly slide shut, while Even’s remain open. His heated gaze pins Jonas down as their lips slot together, Isak pressing his mouth more firmly against Even’s and curling his fingers around his neck. 

The moment Even’s hand cups Isak’s cock, Jonas springs out of his seat. He barely takes a second to recover from the headrush before stumbling towards the door, working as quickly as he can in his disorientated state. The entry hall is dimly lit but Jonas is too rattled to even think of looking for a switch. He’s stumbling around, desperately trying to find his shoes, when he hears Isak’s voice. 

“Jonas,” he says, and it sounds so loud in the empty space, breathy and drawn out. The blood rushes to Jonas’s head so fast he feels lightheaded. 

He hesitates, one foot already half inside a shoe, before turning back toward the living room.

“I'm sorry, guys—” he blurts out suddenly.

“It's fine,” Isak says from the other room. “Don't be sorry.” 

Jonas wavers for a second. 

“Come sit with us,” Isak says again.

 _What the fuck is going on_ , Jonas thinks—even as he slides off the shoe he was putting on. He takes a deep breath before stepping back into the room.

Isak and Even are still sitting in the exact same position, and Jonas eyes the empty space left on the couch before sitting down gingerly, as far from the couple as he possibly can. 

Immediately, Isak scoots closer to Jonas, a warm hand curling around his back. 

“It’s fine, Jonas,” he repeats, and his voice sounds so soft and careful that Jonas instantly feels more at ease. 

“I didn't mean to—” He starts again, but then Even moves to Jonas's other side. He settles right next to him, until Jonas is bracketed between Even and Isak’s bodies, and whatever Jonas was about to say dies in his throat. 

Even slides an arm around his shoulders, threading his fingers through his hair. “Your hair feels so nice,” he says, and Jonas tenses before relaxing into the touch.

“Jonas has the best fucking hair,” Isak says with a smile, hand migrating to Jonas’s neck. Slim fingers trail down his neck, tickling his nape and brushing the collar of his shirt, and Jonas can't help tilting his head back so Isak can touch more, all over. He has no idea what's going on anymore, or what Isak and Even are expecting of him, but he decides he doesn't care—not when Isak is touching him like this and when he can feel the warmth of Even’s body burning into his side.

Even fists a hand into his curls, tugging slightly and eliciting a small gasp from Jonas. He flushes, trying to ignore the way the tingling feeling of his scalp is making the blood rush to his dick. 

Whatever semblance of normality he was struggling to preserve flies out the window when Even leans closer. 

“Do you ever think about this, Jonas?” 

Even doesn’t even sound like he’s trying to be sexy, but his voice is ragged and suggestive. And the question: fuck, of course Jonas thinks about it. It’s all he can think about.

Jonas can’t bring himself to reply, words failing him. Noticing how still Jonas is holding his body, Even pulls away from his ear to look at his face. Whatever he sees there must encourage him because his eyes flicker down to Jonas’s lips before he leans in again,  lips brushing against the shell of Jonas's ear.

“Do you ever think about us?” 

The words send a shiver though Jonas’s body, making his head spin. 

His mind is racing. It must be painfully obvious, because Isak brings a hand up to cup his jaw, turning his head toward him. He threads his fingers into the curls at the base of Jonas’s neck, and the weight of his hand grounds Jonas in the moment.

His breath is warm against Jonas’s cheek as he murmurs, “It's okay, Jonas.”

Jonas looks up at his best friend, desperate to meet his eyes.

“Isak, I—” Jonas tries again, needing him to know that he hadn’t planned for anything to happen tonight. The sentence dies in his throat when he allows himself actually  _look_ at Isak’s face. His expression is warm and his eyes are focused on Jonas’s lips, in the same way that they used to be, and the fact that Isak is finally looking at him like this again, after all these years, makes the tension in his chest unravel.

He can’t do anything but look at Isak. And for the first time in forever, he feels Isak is looking back. 

It occurs to him that they’ve never been able to really look at each other and have the other person return that look, unashamedly. Never in the right place and time and frame of mind. Something deep and meaningful passes between them—something just for the two of them—and then Even says  _okay_ , and it’s like a signal Jonas didn’t know he was waiting for. 

Something inside him snaps. 

“Issy,” he breathes out, and leans into Isak’s face, a hand lifting to cup his cheek and pull him closer. Isak is staring at him, mouth slack and eyes hooded, and when Jonas kisses him, it’s carefully, gasping under his breath when their lips finally brush together.  

Jonas’s heart is pounding erratically in his chest, and he feels like he’s going to collapse from the feeling of Isak’s lips on his. Isak’s hand instantly moves from his hair to his face, soothing fingers brushing over his temple, soft murmurs of  _it’s okay, it’s okay_  between kisses. And then Even is touching him too, stroking Jonas’s arm with those long fingers Jonas has been thinking about all damn night. His touch is slow and light. Reassuring. 

When Even finally places a hand around his neck and pulls, Jonas doesn’t hesitate before breaking away from Isak and turning his head for a filthy kiss. Even’s thumb slides over his jaw to tug at his bottom lip and Isak’s hand begins to stroke his leg; Jonas can’t help but moan into Even’s mouth, eager for more. He’s reeling from how much he wants it—thinking of all the things he wants to do with Isak and Even, and have them do to him.  

Jonas presses Even into the cushions, sliding a tentative hand up the smooth, warm skin of his stomach. Even moans into the kiss, his mouth welcoming the first press of Jonas’s tongue. 

The warm buzz Jonas feels turns into excitement when Isak touches his hip and leans in. 

“Let’s move to the bed,” Isak mumbles. His lips brush against Jonas’s neck, hand shifting to brush against the button of Jonas’s jeans. He shivers from the ghost of Isak’s fingers, and that combined with the lips on his neck and Even’s hand on his thigh makes Jonas’s brain short circuit. 

“I want to show you—” Isak says into his neck, as his fingers move over Jonas’s zipper, tugging it down tooth by tooth. “How good it feels.”

Jonas isn’t sure how he manages to speak, considering all the air has suddenly deserted his lungs. “How good what feels?”

Isak kisses the side of his neck sweetly—once, twice. 

“To be with a boy,” he says, matter-of-factly. His lips brush over the sensitive skin again. 

Jonas's breath hitches. “Fuck—yes, okay, okay—” he says, but—

“Wait, I have a better idea,” Even cuts in, raising his eyebrows. Noting Jonas's confusion, he smiles widely.

“Isak was telling me earlier…” he pauses, looking back at Isak as if he’s sharing a secret. “How he really wants to eat you out.” 

Jonas practically feels his heart stop.

“It’s okay if you don’t want it, Jonas,” Isak says in a reassuring voice, nosing at his cheekbone. “Just tell us what you’d like.”

He can hear his heartbeat in his ears, and Jonas closes his eyes for a second. No matter what answer he gives them, there’s no turning back now. 

When he finally opens his mouth, the rush of adrenaline feels like he’s throwing himself off a cliff. 

“I want to.”

It takes a lot out of him to finally admit those words. Telling them that he wants them, wants whatever they have to offer, it’s so daunting—but the way that Even licks into his mouth immediately after he says it, and how Isak presses open-mouthed kisses to the back of his neck, reassures him that he’s not alone in this. That they want this, too. 

The heat of Isak’s body leaves his side, and Jonas hears him getting off the couch to settle down on the floor. 

Even breaks away from Jonas to stand up, pressing a kiss to his lips when Jonas instinctively follows his mouth. Jonas’s eyes follow too, as Even walks around to stand behind Jonas’s seat on the couch. Even’s hand sneaks back into his hair, playing with his curls. 

It feels good, but it’s not the main event. Just as Jonas’s focus switches to Even, Isak nudges Jonas's legs open from his place on the floor in front of him.

Jonas breathes slowly, raising his eyes to meet Isak’s. And Isak looks hungry for it, tongue darting out to lick his lips.

Isak tugs his zipper the rest of the way down. 

As soon as Jonas’s jeans are open, Isak pulls them over the swell of his ass. His eyes rest on the outline of Jonas’s hard cock in his boxers. 

Isak takes a shaky breath, biting his lip. His voice is almost foreign to Jonas when he finally speaks again. “I promise, I’m going to make you feel so good.”

Jonas didn’t know Isak’s voice could sound like this. He doesn’t know what to do with the newfound knowledge. 

Not that Isak gives him time to ponder over it. He leans forward and shamelessly licks at the wet spot on Jonas’s boxers, putting his mouth around the tip of Jonas’s dick, and sucking at it through the fabric. 

Jonas moans, a guttural sound from deep within his chest, and arches into the warmth of Isak’s mouth, hips pushing forward. Isak has barely gotten his mouth on him, but Jonas is so wound up that he knows he can’t possibly last long. Isak seems to sense it too, pulling away from Jonas’s dick and looking drunk off the sight of him.

“Turn around, Jonas.”

Jonas feels a spike of nerves, but doesn't hesitate before getting up. He takes off his jeans and boxers with Isak’s help, and turns to kneel on the cushions.

Even meets him halfway, kissing him deeply as his hand slowly making its way down Jonas’s back and the other holds up his chin. Isak begins to caress the inside of his thighs from his place behind him, causing Jonas to moan into the kiss. 

He knows what’s about to come, and the anticipation makes everything so much more intense—right down to the way Even is kissing him. His full lips feel so good against Jonas’s, their tongues licking against each other lazily, and the hand Even has on his back is steadily getting more adventurous, fingers tracing patterns on the sensitive skin. 

When Even pulls away from him, there's a smile playing at the corner of his mouth. 

“Are you ready?” he asks, voice low and raspy. His eyes are dark but comforting when they meet Jonas’s, and it makes his entire body ache.

Jonas nods. 

Smoothly, Even pulls him into another searing kiss, and his hands dip lower and lower until he's spreading Jonas’s ass cheeks apart, thoroughly exposing him to Isak. 

Jonas gasps into the kiss, flushing at how open he feels, and his dick jumps against the rough fabric of the cushions. He’s just getting used to the feeling of the cool air of the room against his hole when it happens.

 _Fuck_.

The first stroke of Isak tongue against his rim is tentative, and yet Jonas can't help pulling away from Even’s lips to pant helplessly into his neck, groaning from how good it feels. Isak, encouraged by his reaction, gives him a few more experimental licks before he begins to suck lightly at the puckered skin of his rim. 

Jonas moans with each one.

It’s too much and not enough all at once, and Even isn’t helping. Jonas’s entire body sings as Even touches him, licking against his ear and his neck.

“Listen to him,” Even murmurs against his jaw, “You taste so good.” He continues to lick and suck at Jonas’s skin, leaving a trail of bruises along his collarbone, and Jonas can only gape at the ceiling in amazement from how overstimulated he feels. He can’t believe this is happening. It doesn’t feel like a real thing. And yet—

It lights him up from the inside out, real and vital. The way Isak’s tongue feels against his hole, the occasional scrape of teeth here and there, the sweet, slow suction. Not just that, but the vulnerability of it all. Jonas has eaten girls out before, but he can’t imagine this is how it feels for them. It’s so much. He wants more of it.

“ _Fuck_ —so good,” Jonas chokes out, and Even’s hands fall to his thighs, caressing the sensitive skin there.“Spread your legs Jonas, it’ll feel even better,” he instructs, and Jonas obeys, moaning immediately at the change in angle; Isak’s mouth on him somehow feels more intimate.

He wonders what they’d look like right now, to an observer: Isak on his knees on the ground in front of the couch; Even standing behind it. Jonas, between them, hands gripping the couch back to steady himself on raised knees, push-and-pulled between their two mouths, against his lips and his hole.

Jonas imagines it looks as filthy as it feels.

Before long, he’s a mess, reflexively moving his hips back and forth as he pushes himself against Isak’s tongue and rubs his straining cock against the back of the couch. He can hear Even’s words of encouragement to Isak, but his brain can’t make any sense of them now.  

It feels so filthy, to be naked like this from the waist down, with Even and Isak still fully dressed. So intense.

Heat floods the tense muscles in his limbs, pools into his gut—and then lower, as Isak begins to fuck his tongue into him, no more restraint in the way he’s licking him out. The blood begins to roar in his ears, announcing the hardest, most intense orgasm of his life, and Jonas arches against the couch, chasing the friction that will help him get there.

Even pulls him closer, kissing him wetly as his other hand moves to drag against his dick, fast and rough, until Jonas is coming all over his hand. 

A lull settles over the three of them as they catch their breath. Jonas rests his forehead against Even’s shoulder, breathing slowly as he recovers from the strength of his orgasm. Even strokes his neck slowly, and behind him Jonas hears Isak leave the room, the sound of the tap running in the bathroom.

“Fucking hell,” Jonas whispers, and Even laughs brightly.

The smile is clear in his voice when he answers. “We're just getting started. You think you can keep up?” 

Honestly? Jonas isn’t sure he can... but he sure as hell wants to try.

Jonas tries and fails to look cool in the face of whatever it is that’s happening here.

“Bring it on,” he manages, as Isak returns from the bathroom.

“Let’s go to bed then,” Even says, smiling at his boyfriend.

Isak leads the way.

-

Jonas follows them both into the bedroom on shaky legs, still dazed from the shivers of pleasure running through his body. Before he knows it, he’s standing in the middle of the room, body alight with a strange combination of nerves and bliss. 

Isak just had his mouth on him in the most intimate way possible and yet, the night is far from over. Jonas can barely imagine what’s still to come.

Even moves to stand behind him, smoothing his hands over his shoulders reassuringly. His fingers skid over the nape of his neck, and Jonas leans into the touch, Isak at his front, crowding him against the warmth of Even’s chest. When a hand slips under his shirt, Jonas lets out a sigh. Isak’s fingers drag over his skin, trailing over his stomach and hip and making the muscles there jump. 

“Does this feel good?”

It’s amusing to Jonas that Even would ask that now, but he nods anyway. 

Even’s hands circle his waist, curling into the hem of his shirt. He kisses the side of Jonas’s jaw, plump lips dragging over his skin, all tongues and soft lips. 

“Can I take this off?” Isak asks breathlessly. 

Jonas can’t hold back a groan, breaking apart as his best friend helps him remove his t-shirt. Behind him, Even is peeling his off too but Isak doesn’t move, too preoccupied with the sight of Jonas’s body. He’s staring, mouth hanging open—looking his fill, like he can’t believe it’s finally allowed.

“Jonas… You look so good.”

Jonas feels his gaze like it’s tangible, and reaches a hand out, pulling Isak’s hand to rest on his own chest. His heart is beating so fast, and Isak smiles at him as he feels it, before trailing his hand down Jonas’s chest, thumb grazing Jonas’s nipple. He raises his other hand, and both trail down Jonas's body, whisper-light touches that have Jonas's nerves in a frenzy.  

"You two look perfect together," Even whispers in his ear, lips teasing the skin. 

 _So do you_ , Jonas wants to say. He just can’t get the words out. 

Isak meets Jonas's eyes, like he knows what he’s thinking.

“Can you come again?” he asks. The frankness in his voice is almost startling.

Jonas clears his throat.

“Maybe,” he says, hearing as he speaks how scratchy his voice sounds already. “But give me a minute.”

Isak just hums, leaning forward to kiss his cheek. Jonas is confused when he presses even closer to him, mouth no longer on him, until he realises what he’s doing—craning his neck so he can kiss Even over Jonas’s shoulder. 

A moment passes while Jonas stands there, uncertain. It’s strange enough to be naked like this with the both of them fully dressed; something about it makes him feel like more of a voyeur than ever. He wants to pull away but doesn't dare to quite yet, unsure what the protocol is. 

Can he just move aside and watch them? 

Isak makes the decision for him when he moves his arm up to cup Even’s face, the gesture pushing at Jonas's face and neck until he has to step to the side, untangling himself from the pair. He moves a few step back blindly, too fascinated by what’s happening right in front of his eyes. 

Even and Isak are locked in a tight embrace, their mouths open and moving together seamlessly. Even’s hands settle on Isak’s hip and back, and Isak tilts his head so they can kiss more deeply. It’s doing something to Jonas, being allowed to watch them like this unabashedly. He wants to see more of it, of Even’s hands moving over Isak’s body proprietarily, claiming every inch of him, slipping into the hidden places only he can touch. 

“Shall we give Jonas another show?” Even asks, smiling against Isak’s mouth. His hands wander down to grab Isak’s ass. 

Jonas has to hold back a groan. Just the thought of Isak and Even together, touching each other in front of him,  _for_  him, is enough to make his cock jump again, sensitive as it is.

“Be nice,” Isak admonishes him, and Even’s hands slip under his skin-tight jeans. They break apart just long enough for Even to turn teasing.

“Bet he wants to see your mouth around my cock, doesn't he?” 

Even looks right at Jonas as he says it, eyes so intense and dark, Jonas can barely stop himself from moaning.

When Isak lets one of his hands slip to the waistband of Even’s jeans. Agile fingers are making quick work of Even’s button and zipper and then Isak is pulling the pale denim down his boyfriend’s narrow hips, slow and teasing. Jonas is suddenly gripped with the need to see him get on his knees for Even, take his hard cock in his mouth and let Even fuck his face until he’s coming down his throat. 

And indeed, Isak gives him a show, bending over to take off Even’s boxers. He takes his time getting to his knees, kissing down Even’s pale chest slowly like he’s savoring every touch. 

When he gets to Even’s hips, he spends so much time mouthing at his hipbones that Jonas can almost feel the tension buzzing in Even’s body: anticipation that makes him pant and thrust forward against Isak’s mouth every time he gets too close to the ‘V’ of his groin.

Even’s cock is hard and leaking, straining against his belly, and Isak smiles before giving it a few kitten licks, smearing the precome with his thumb and mixing it with his own spit before he starts sucking at the tip. Jonas is still watching, his own dick slowly hardening as Isak works to make Even come undone. The sounds Isak make are obscenely loud in the silence of the room, but they don't entirely cover the way Even is cursing under his breath. 

And Isak…

Isak looks like he’s blissful, cheeks hollowed around Even’s dick in a way that makes the faint blush covering his cheekbones stand out. He’s still smiling, and Jonas finds himself staring at his best friend’s mouth like he’s never seen it before. 

That same mouth was on his hole just minutes before, he remembers with a shudder.

After a few minutes of wicked teasing, Isak pulls off Even’s dick with a loud ‘pop’, getting to his feet to kiss him again. The kiss they share is familiar, and increasingly frantic, before Isak abruptly breaks away. 

His eyes find Jonas's immediately. For a moment, his expression clouds over with doubt. 

"Do you still want to do this, Jonas?" he asks, worrying at his lower lip with his teeth. 

Jonas feels a rush of love for his best friend at that question. 

The thing is that they’ve crossed a line, here. He knows that, but he wouldn’t go back. It’s all completely new territory they’re exploring tonight. Maybe it’s scary, but he’s glad that they’re in this, whatever it is, together. 

Jonas nods and Isak smiles back, relieved, before his gaze turns hot again. A thrill runs through Jonas’s body as Isak looks him up and down. 

Jonas is still naked, hard-on painfully obvious against his thigh, and he barely has a second to feel self-conscious before Isak wraps his arms around his waist and kisses his neck. 

The kisses are soft and warm, and Jonas takes the initiative to pull at Isak’s clothes until there’s nothing left between them, just skin on skin, and Even is joining them, broad hands over Isak’s hips. 

Jonas doesn’t know what’s next, but he knows it has to be something big. There are too many possibilities in his head. Too much that he wants to do, and see, and feel.

His head is whirring, overthinking it—and Even must see, because he cuts through all of the noise.

“You saw us before,” Even says, making Jonas’s heart leap. “What did you think about?”

Isak pulls away to look Jonas in the eye, open and waiting.

Jonas shakes his head, not knowing what to say.

“Everything,” he admits. 

Isak smiles, like he can see the cogs turning in Jonas’s brain.

“What do you want to try?” he asks, fingers trailing a line down Jonas’s side. His hands settle on Jonas’s ass, and he has a flash of memory, then, to Isak holding him open.

Jonas tries to keep his cool, but he knows it’s kind of a lost cause.

“What would you do,” he tries, then clears his throat. “What would you do if I wasn’t here?”

Isak and Even exchange looks, and Even can’t hold back his smile.

“It depends,” Even says. Isak’s hands squeeze Jonas’s ass, and one hand strays to touch the puffy rim of his hole, still sensitive.

Jonas gasps, eyes rolling back in his head. He has to take a second to breathe, to find it in him to ask for what he wants.  

“What does it feel like?” Jonas asks, looking to his best friend for guidance. “How does it feel to get fucked?”

-

Jonas wants this, but it’s scary as hell. 

When Isak declares him ready, Jonas hesitates, unsure of how he should be. It seems so easy with girls, in comparison—like, you can fuck them from any which way. But now that he’s the one getting fucked, there’s a lot to think about. 

Isak doesn’t ask which way Jonas wants it, which he’s grateful for, because he doesn’t want to make any decisions right now. He’s even more grateful when Isak, still standing, pushes him gently back onto the bed, running his hands down Jonas's thighs.

Then he hooks his hands underneath them.

“Can you lift these?” he asks, pushing up until Jonas bends his knees, letting Isak press against the back of his legs. Isak folds Jonas in half, pushing his knees up into his chest until he feels completely exposed.

“Here,” Even says, and Jonas meets his eyes as Even plasters himself against Isak’s back, reaching around to put his own hands on Jonas's thighs, holding him in place.

With Isak’s hands now free, he rolls a condom onto his dick with impressive coordination, then picks up the little bottle of lube and rubs more between his fingers. They return to probe at Jonas's sensitive hole—two straight away, just testing how loose he still is—and Jonas gulps, tensing up even in spite of the memory of his earlier orgasm.  

“Breathe, Jonas,” Isak says, no doubt feeling Jonas clench down around his finger. Even nods, his head hooked over Isak’s shoulder. 

“Trust us, it’ll be good. You just have to breathe.”

They make it sound really easy. Jonas tries—takes a deep breath in, then out, until he relaxes enough that Isak’s fingers feel good again.

Overwhelmingly good.

Isak slicks up his cock now, and now he’s the one breathing deeply.

Jonas has been thinking about himself the whole time, he realizes. But this is probably a big deal for Isak, too. Isak didn’t become a sex robot overnight, and this is new territory for him, even if it’s not as new as it is to Jonas.

“Are  _you_  sure you want to do this?” Jonas asks as Isak prises his cheeks apart.

The look Isak gives him in return is painfully fond.

“I’m sure,” he says, and he exchanges a look with Even that speaks volumes about their connection—this tiny exchange of reassurance and support. “Do you trust me?”

Jonas nods, but Isak doesn’t move. Jonas swallows hard.

“I trust you, Issy,” he says, and Isak nods.

“Okay,” he says, and licks his lips as he lines up his cock with Jonas’s hole.

The first push in is painful. It’s not like Jonas wasn’t expecting that—but it doesn’t feel like fingers. And maybe painful isn’t even the right word… it just feels strange. Uncomfortable. Jonas is glad Isak is moving slowly—letting Jonas take his dick a millimeter at a time. He squeezes his eyes shut. 

 _Breathe_ , he remembers. He’s supposed to breathe.

Isak takes control of Jonas's legs again as he enters him, and Jonas's eyes flicker open at the change. Even’s hands go immediately to Isak, touching first his torso then his hips.

Jonas feels a shiver run through him as Even’s fingertip traces the place where Isak’s cock is breaching his hole. For a wild moment, Jonas imagines Even’s finger slipping in alongside Isak’s cock, both of them inside him at once.

The thought makes a shudder of pleasure run through him.

When it feels like Isak is finally entirely inside, Jonas exhales. Isak’s eyes are closed, his mouth parted in pleasure—until Even fits his hand under Isak’s chin, turning his face back to slip him his tongue.

Out of the corner of his eye, Jonas sees Even’s arm moving. He follows it down, to see that Even’s fingers are working inside Isak, quick movements that Jonas only wishes he had a better view of this time.

Isak cries out, and Even meets Jonas's eyes, conspiratory as fuck. 

Even smiles.

“Are you ready?” Even asks his boyfriend, and Isak nods. 

“Just do it,” he chokes out, eyes on his cock inside Jonas. Somehow, he crowds in even closer to Jonas’s body, and Jonas’s aching dick lays caught between their bellies.

Jonas feels the stutter of Isak’s hips as Even fucks into him—and it feels like a revelation.

All three of them. Together like this. His brain could shut down from the mental image alone.

It doesn’t get less intense.

Somehow, while he was watching Even get Isak ready, Jonas had adjusted to the girth of Isak’s cock in his ass. Now, as Isak moves forward, even that slightest bit, Jonas gasps, feeling the drag of Isak inside him and wanting more.

“ _Fuck_ ,” Jonas says now, because he can’t contain the feeling of incredulous wonder brimming up inside of him. He hears the strangled laugh that spills from his lips, hoarse and wanting. “Move. Please, you have to move.”

Jonas can  _feel_  it when Even does: the first slow roll of Even’s hips until Isak is pushing deeper into Jonas. They all groan at once—which would be funny, maybe, if the angle of Isak’s thrust hadn’t got his cock glancing against Jonas's prostate. He feels too turned on to find anything funny right now.

Even thrusts again—and again, until Jonas is slack-jawed and panting, holding his own thighs to his own chest in an attempt to get Isak deeper, get more.

He didn’t know it would feel like this.

It’s so overwhelming. Isak above him, his slim body sweaty and sex-flushed, biting at his own pink lips as he clings to Jonas, those familiar hands now feeling foreign and new on Jonas’s skin. Even, behind Isak, covering him with his whole body, dick snug inside Isak and arms encircling him like he’s something precious to be held.

Jonas makes eye contact with Even over Isak’s shoulder—takes in the sheen of sweat on Even’s temple, his messy hair, his blown pupils. He takes in this boy who looks like sex personified and he just wants—he wants Isak to keep filling him up like this forever, and he to come right this fucking second, and he doesn’t know which desire is winning.

There’s a glint in Even’s eyes that Jonas can only imagine leads to spectacular orgasms. 

Once Even starts running his mouth, Jonas is sure of it.

“How does he feel?” Even asks, hips continuing their slow roll, and Jonas nearly answers before Isak huffs out an irritated  _fuck you._

“Does he feel tight, baby?” Even continues, completely unsubtle. 

Isak keens, nodding in response and squeezing Jonas’s thighs, almost in reassurance. Jonas looks between Isak and Even, and to his surprise, Even smiles at him.

His voice is softer, now. Like there’s a kindness to it, Jonas thinks, even as what he says has Jonas feeling hot all over.

“And how does he feel, Jonas? He knows how to fuck, doesn’t he?”

Jonas doesn’t have any experience of getting fucked to compare it to, but he nods out a  _yes_ as he feels his heart jump in his throat, anyway. This whole feeling is addictive.  _Isak’s dick is addictive_ , Jonas thinks, a little ridiculously. If he was in his right mind he’d laugh at himself… but it’s hard to think straight like this.

He can’t imagine being fucked by anyone else. Even, maybe—but there’s nobody he trusts the way he trusts Isak. There’s nobody else he thinks he could have done this with. Maybe it would have been something he thought about, with Eva—to let her fuck him, with her fingers or whatever… but a dick inside him is a whole different level. It’s the most intimate feeling in the world.

“Doesn’t he have a nice cock, Jonas?” Even asks, and Jonas almost laughs at that one, even as he arches his back, groans.

Isak smiles at him, and Jonas smiles back, and then Isak pulls out that little bit more to slam into Jonas again, a flicker of smugness in his eyes, and Jonas moans with it.

“Do you like it like this?” Isak asks, and it doesn’t sound like dirty talk—more like he actually wants to know, which is almost unbearably sweet. It gets to Jonas anyway. He can feel his breaths growing shallower and shallower. He reaches for his cock but Isak shakes his head, stopping him, and Jonas swears, tipping back his head as Isak’s cock slides in and out of him, torturously slow and long.

“Faster,” Jonas pants. “Fuck, please.”

He looks between Isak and Even, and Even shakes his head.

“Do you trust us?” Even says. “It’ll be worth it.”

“It’s okay if it’s a lot, Jonas,” Isak murmurs. “You feel so good.”

“Feels good,” Jonas says, whimpering, and he feels completely overwhelmed by the drag of Isak’s cock inside of him. 

Isak is filling him up over and over as the pleasure builds up inside of him—and it’s not just that, but the vulnerability of it: split open by his best friend’s cock with his knees pressed into his own torso. His dick is so swollen Jonas can’t believe there’s blood left anywhere else in his body. 

Isak continues to fuck into him slowly, propelled forward by Even’s slow thrusts. He barely pulls out of Jonas, letting the rhythmic pounding propel his own hips so that he’s grinding in. At one particularly hard thrust from Even, Isak grips harder on Jonas’s thighs.

“Fucking hell, Even,” Isak moans, leaning forward. The movement changes the angle of his cock, brushing the head directly against Jonas’s prostate.

Jonas goes wild.

“ _Fuck_ , yes, please,” he pants, grabbing desperately for his cock. This time Isak lets him, lacing his own fingers around Jonas’s fingers to bring him off together, and Jonas fucks into their joined hands, groaning shamelessly at the dual pleasure of a hand on his dick and the steady pressure of Isak’s dick inside him.

He’s not going to last.

“Even,” he says, pleading now. “Isak.”

He can’t say much more before he’s coming for the second time that night with a cry, his dick pulsing as ribbons of come splatter high up his torso. 

Vaguely he’s aware of Isak stilling, gripping Jonas’s thighs tight enough that it’ll leave marks. Jonas doesn’t care—he shudders his way through his orgasm, a bit hysterical at how fucking good it felt. Sweat drips down his face and Jonas feels wrecked and useless.

His arms fall limply to his sides and he winces as Isak gingerly pulls out of him, letting Jonas’s legs fall back into their natural position.

Jonas lies there for a moment, the world spinning around him, and then he looks back to Isak.

His dick, the condom now shed, stands to attention, red and swollen. Jonas doesn’t even think about it before he reaches for his face, pulling Isak toward him for a sweet kiss. 

Isak comes willingingly, moving forward with such fluidity that Even slips out of him, and practically sighing into Jonas’s waiting mouth.

“Jonas,” Isak pants, when they finally separate. They’re almost flat out now, Jonas lying back on the bed with Isak on top of him. “Even.” 

He doesn’t know where to look, and now Isak is the one who seems overwhelmed.

Behind Isak, Even crawls up the bed on his knees, dropping a kiss to Isak’s shoulder before he slips back inside him. Isak cries out at the feeling.

“Jonas,” Isak says again. “Can you just—”

He rests his forehead on Jonas’s, panting as Even begins to thrust into him in earnest. There’s hesitation in Isak’s eyes now that Jonas doesn’t quite understand, but Jonas wants it to go away.

“I’ve got you, Isak,” he says, running a hand through Isak’s hair.

Isak looks like he’s right on the edge, and Jonas has never seen anything more attractive. The red hue of his cheeks, and the sheen of sweat on his pale chest, and how his nipples stand hard and pebbled.

"Fuck, Jonas,” Isak bites out. “Touch me, please."

“Yes,” Jonas exhales, pulling Isak even closer with one hand while the other takes Isak’s cock. Isak breathes kisses into his mouth, little hitching gasps as Jonas’s hand fists his cock. 

Jonas wonders how long Isak has wanted to say those words to him. It’s a revelation, even now, to hear it laid out so explicitly. That Isak wants Jonas to touch him. For a long time it was this dawning awareness that he tried to suppress, something that made Isak feel sad and alone.

And now it’s in the air between them, old tension dissipating as something new builds between them, the whole room practically humming with it.

“Come on, Isak,” Jonas murmurs, watching the exertion on Isak’s face as he takes Even’s dick, fucks into Jonas’s hand. “Are you going to come for me?”

Isak bites Jonas’s lower lip—harder, maybe, than Jonas would usually find sexy—and then he’s tipping over the edge, his come pooling on Jonas’s stomach with his own as Isak shivers his way into the longest orgasm Jonas has ever seen, moaning out in pleasure. 

Even groans too, and when Isak finally stops shuddering, Jonas looks up to find Even hunched over Isak’s back, looking completely bowled over. 

Even lifts his head to meet Jonas’s gaze, staring between Jonas and Isak like he’s just been punched in the stomach—in the best way. 

He came too, Jonas realizes. A pang of regret runs through him as he wishes he had noticed.

Even pulls out of Isak slowly and takes off the condom—Isak hisses, a little, gripping Jonas’s shoulders tight—and then Isak rolls off of Jonas. He lies at Jonas’s side, on his back, his come-smeared dick an obscene sight against his stomach.

With little ceremony, Even tosses the condom aside and crawls onto the bed, curling into the other side of Jonas so that once again, he’s in the middle. He leans in to press a slow kiss to Jonas’s mouth that could mean anything.

 _Thank you for the orgasms_  or  _this was a one time thing_  or  _goodnight, person in my bed._

Even pecks the corner of his mouth once more and then pulls away, unceremoniously slumping over his bedsheets. He slings his arm casually across Jonas’s stomach, lying on his front but turning his face toward Jonas’s. In his peripheral vision, Jonas sees Isak move to clean himself up with the tissues from his bedside table. 

Jonas closes his eyes and takes a second to breathe. 

-

Silence falls upon them. Jonas isn’t quite sure what to say, or if there’s much to be said at all. On one hand, it’s a comfortable kind of quiet, the kind that you need to take a second to bask in. But on the other hand, he can’t help the gnawing feeling in his chest, urging him to say something before the silence becomes too much.

His mind is working a miles per minute, trying to come up with something to say, but all that ends up coming out is, “Wow.”

He hears a snort to his right, and turns his head to look at Isak. He’s smiling at him, wide and unrestrained in all his gap-toothed glory, and he seems relaxed in a way that Jonas hasn’t seen in a very long time. Jonas can’t help but feel privileged to witness Isak in this state, shaken to his core to be even half the reason behind that smile.

“Did we break you?” Isak says teasingly, and Even chuckles to Jonas’s left.

Jonas huffs, biting back a smile. “No, why would you think that?”

“ _Wow_ ,” Isak echoes mockingly, and Jonas wants to kiss the smug smile off his mouth. 

But he doesn’t know if he’s allowed to. The realization makes his body tense all over, and Even immediately notices, running his hand soothingly over Jonas’s stomach.

“Hey,” Even says, voice kind, and he and Isak share a look. Jonas watches the silent exchange, apprehension growing in his chest. He doesn’t know what that look means.

Isak leans forward and kisses Jonas—carefully, now, nothing like the filthy kisses they had before. This kind of kiss feels quiet. Something calm, and still, after the frenzy of before. Jonas can’t help but feel this is Isak’s way of saying goodbye. 

He melts into it, savoring the kiss for what it is. If Isak wants to give him this one last thing before he goes back to his happy life with Even, then Jonas will take it. If Even wants to press his warm hand against the skin of Jonas’s torso before he and Isak finally let him go, Jonas will take it.

When Isak pulls back, his eyes dart around the room, like he’s nervous, and Jonas feels his heart flutter. 

Maybe this is the point where he gets out of bed, and goes to sleep on their couch. Maybe this is this the moment they say  _thanks but no thanks_ … or is he supposed to intuit it for himself? 

A shiver runs through him, and this time it’s not a good feeling. Even if Jonas doesn’t leave their bed tonight: what about tomorrow? Where do they go from here? 

Jonas doesn’t know if he’ll ever get to have this again, and it hurts. It’s not just about Isak. The way he feels, lying between Isak and Even, cocooned by them and the warm blankets… it’s not a feeling Jonas can just forget about and walk away from. Isak and Even love each other so fucking much that it practically pours out of them, and it’s so addictive to be made to feel a part of that. 

How does he get up and move on from this? How does he keep the best relationship in his life from being irreparably damaged by it?

Jonas doesn’t want to lose Isak, but he also doesn’t want to push. 

Isak and Even exchange another look, and Jonas swallows down the sadness welling up within him. He clears his throat and sits upright, about to clamber over Even and leave them in peace, when he feels a hand on his shoulder.

“Where are you going?” Even asks, furrowing his brows together. 

 _I’m leaving_ , Jonas wants to say,  _like I should_.

But Even doesn’t give him the chance to say it. “Stay,” he says, and Isak hums in agreement next to him. 

His heart clenches, and Jonas lies back on the bed, allowing himself to settle between them again. 

He stares at the ceiling as both Isak and Even plaster themselves to his sides, the sweat cooling on their bodies. 

Eventually, he feels their breaths even out—Isak first, breathing into his shoulder, then Even, mumbling sleepy nothings into his ear.

They can talk in the morning, Jonas decides. There’s nothing to be said now, and no reason to ruin the still beauty of this moment. Jonas doesn’t know what tomorrow will bring, but for now, he feels loved. Safe. Happy. He looks between Isak and Even, just watching them sleep, for the longest time.

His heart clenches again, but this time it’s for an entirely different reason. He almost feels thankful to be here. To have had this. It’s not just the orgasms: he feels lucky to have been part of this, to have seen Even and Isak like this… even if he never gets it again.

Eventually, his own eyes drift shut.

**Author's Note:**

> Come scream about Jovak with us on Twitter:
> 
> Kit: [@kittpurrson](http://twitter.com/kittpurrson)  
> Desert: [@desert_coffin](http://twitter.com/desert_coffin)  
> Birthmarks: [@BlRTHMARKS](https://twitter.com/BlRTHMARKS)  
> 


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